The young woman silently roamed around the looming forest, watching her every step as she trekked through the trees.
She walked along a well-used path she had paved through her countless adventures, lulled into a sense of peace by the familiarity of the region. The pleasant scent of the rich undergrowth, the harsh chirp of the many fowl amongst the trees, and the call of desperate creatures searching in vain for mates. The ground caving underneath her feet, the rustle of bushes nearby, and even the wind slapping against her face and nearly knocking off her hood were welcome sensations. All of the sounds and sensations of the forest combined to remind her of her place in the world.
She was one with the forest, and the forest was one with her.
Upon a glance, one would see a commoner—a hunter at best. A camouflage cloak loosely wound around her slim figure, the handcrafted hunting bow slung casually across her shoulder, the soft leather boots, and the hood veiling her platinum blonde hair. She was anonymous, and she preferred it that way. Out here, dressed like this, no one would know she was a royal.
“It’s better to look like a commoner. Less stress that way,” she had once explained to one of her guards.
The life she was born into, a life of riches and luxury, was not the kind she was meant for. The royal court, so pompous and prude with its too-bright colours and filled with the obnoxious screeching of clumsy instruments, could never compare to the lavishness of the wild. The melody of the birds flowing with the gentle breeze. The lush, rich greens and browns that filled her gaze. They could never be outdone by any finely dressed noble. Only the shadow of her hood could disguise her expression of disgust at the thought.
Balls, weddings, feasts, celebrations, ceremonies, coronations, and even her day-to-day classes—she found no joy or passion in any of them. Being a princess wasn’t her dream; it wasn’t even what she was destined to be. She wasn’t a ‘proper lady’ or a ‘perfect princess,’ and no amount of demands could convince her to behave like one.
“I’m my own person,” she grumbled. The regret was immediate, as the bushes rustled while several hidden creatures scurried away. She cursed before returning to silence as she continued her near-aimless trek through Gavleni.
Gavleni District, the home of her little escapist’s abode, was beautiful, even compared to its gorgeous neighbours. The Kingdom of Gratsinmorn was home to many breathtaking sights, most of which could be found here. But even so close to the capital district, Ulcerif, the tracks of bandits were plenty, old footprints she knew were not hers littering the path. No district was safe from them, after all. Her nation, natural and lively, was plagued by them. Thieves, mercenaries, assassins, and more. But there was nothing she could do, and nothing she could have done. Her sister had it all, and she was just the spare. Set to be nothing more than just a backup.
But her family could figure it out themselves. The EveningStars had ruled Gratsinmorn for several centuries now, their legacy nearly as old as the nation itself. They’d ruled when Gratsinmorn had joined forces with a rebel alliance to overhaul the Galvic Empire, once a neighbour and enemy of the nation. They’d ruled when the First Shadic-Galvic war had raged and assisted their new neighbours in overhauling the Galvic invaders. But the days of a great nation were long past, and all that was left was a bandit-riddled pit of anarchy that she could hardly recognise.
Out here, those worries were all but a distant memory. Out here, she could enjoy herself, and be free of the trivial concerns of matters that were not, and never would be, hers to control. Out here, she was free.
Out here, she was also very hungry.
Her stomach reminded her of why she had started this hike with a ferocious growl. As much as she loved the sights, there was more to do than gawk at her homeland. The cellar was empty, and it was her turn to hunt the game. So, pocketing her worries and swallowing the bitter memories, her left hand went back and unslung her bow, her right carefully pushing an arrow from her quiver and laying it on the string. Food was not easy to come by, nor was it difficult. But she had to go further to find it each time. She hadn’t checked the traps, but she doubted she’d find anything in them.
There was plenty of game to find out here, but it wouldn’t feed three people. She had two hungry, annoying mouths to feed back at home, both of which refused to haul themselves off the couch. All sorts of nonsense about it being “her turn” to get the food this cycle, and some other silly reason for her to hunt alone. But she had a job to do, so she set herself on the task of doing so. After all, the best way to silence a loud mouth was to feed it.
As she framed that thought, the forest’s peaceful silence was broken by a sudden shaking and rustling nearby. Her brilliant blue gaze snapped up to its source, a collection of bushes no more than a few strides from her. She drew her bow to a full draw, the arrowhead aggressively bristling as the undergrowth shuddered violently. Something in them would either turn the young woman into food or become food. And she wasn’t quite sure which it would be, even with her bow at full draw, as a figure emerged.
“Relax, it’s just me!” a familiar voice called.
The young woman lowered her weapon, releasing a frustrated breath as she eased the tension in her bow. She watched as the newcomer revealed herself, a smug grin painted across her fair face and glimmering in her gray eyes, and questioned if she should shoot her anyway.
“Crays, Amelia! Don’t scare me like that!” she complained. Amelia’s grin widened as she shook herself free of the leaves and branches and approached the blonde woman. A giggle broke free as she saw the hunter’s irritated expression, arms wide to offer a hug.
“I couldn’t resist. You were in a world of your own,” and it’s so much fun,” Amelia laughed, squeezing the archer tight. “You know better than to doze off in the middle of the forest, Lunar!”
Lunar grumbled a curse as she was hugged, though she could only last a few moments before returning her friend’s affection. Her veil of displeasure finally broke as she felt Amelia laughing against her, her smile mirroring the brunette’s as she broke away. Silence filled the air between them before Amelia’s grin returned, and Lunar rolled her eyes. She couldn’t stifle her smile, though.
“Yuck it up, chuckles,” she mumbled before the blonde woman’s stomach made its emptiness clear. Amelia’s gaze locked on it, and she arched a brow.
“Hungry?” she wondered, and Lunar averted her gaze. She knew what was coming, but even her humility would not silence the brunette. “I figured there was a connection between the empty cellar and your disappearance! You didn’t check the traps, though.”
Before Lunar could reply, Amelia reached for her belt and pulled out a brace of kallan. No less than six fuzzy beasts, harmless and adorable in appearance save for the blood staining their mouths. And Lunar knew that beneath those tiny snouts and fuzzy lips, there were sharp teeth, probably laden with meat and bone torn from their flesh.
“We sacrificed two crays for these. You should at least check the traps!” the brunette scolded her, and Lunar sucked a breath, shook her head, and marched along the path with a few abashed grumbles. “Hey! Hey, get back here!”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lunar protested, unable to hide her smile as Amelia came up beside her. The brunette’s mouth opened to talk, and Lunar pretended to glare before the brunette’s motions caught her gaze. The young woman was hitching the kallan to her belt and drawing out a handcrafted sling, loosely trimmed and well-kept, before loading a stone into the pouch.
“I’m still amazed you managed to piece that together. How long did it take, again?” the blonde wondered, and Amelia paused before glancing at the weapon.
“An hour, maybe,” she replied. “The yarik was dead anyway, so the farmer let me cut a strip off its hide once he butchered it. Took a while to treat it, but that doesn’t count. And gundar works pretty well!”
“A pouch of fabric and a strip of gundar, and you make a weapon that’s nearly as lethal as a hunting bow,” Lunar whispered, shaking her head in bewilderment before softly smiling at her intuitive friend. “I have to spend days agonising over countless pieces of rayken, moulding these relentless trees into something somewhat usable, and it almost comes up short against that thing!”
“Jealous?” Amelia wondered, and Lunar snickered.
“Yes, yes I am,” she admitted. “Very jealous.”
“Hah!”
The two continued in silence as their bickering came to an end, becoming mindful of their surroundings as they began to hunt. Their steps became silent, their motions few and deliberate as they began to tread through the path. Their soft hide boots were virtually soundless against the dirt, their identical mottled cloaks blending into the grays and greens of the forest around them. Their attire mirrored the deep, rich appearance of the Gratsinmornian undergrowth, and they blended perfectly into the treeline as some tracks became visible. Large, deep tracks, borne of hooves and definitely fresh. A smile crossed Lunar’s face, and Amelia fixed her cap to veil her mousy brown hair. But a nearby rustle alerted both women to the prey, and their gazes snapped up, scanning the scene before resting on a large beast. Soft red fur wrapped around a tubby body, two small structures of bone protruding from its head, and four reasonably muscled legs; a raxten, and a young one at that.
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By the time Lunar had drawn her bow, Amelia was already smirking. If they could kill this animal, they would be eating well for some time. The tubby little beast’s meat would be rich, flavourful, and perfect for several cycles to come. They watched in silence as the beast plodded at the ground, before shaking its antlers to tear apart a bush in search of a mate.
Unfortunately, this raxten would die alone.
The animal never saw the projectiles coming. The arrow smashed through its head, tearing through its skull while Amelia’s stone buried into its jaw. Its legs quivered, and the animal shuddered, before it fell to the ground in a heap, dead before it landed. The blonde woman breathed a sigh of relief and thanks as she saw the animal die a mostly painless death. One that would not be in vain, as it would feed them well for some time to come.
The girls rose, ignoring the snapping of branches and shaking of bushes as various animals fled from the scene. Lunar only had eyes for the fallen beast, its soft, lush coat surrounding the untouched meat beneath. The antlers may have been small, but they would be invaluable for crafting, or even selling, at the nearby market. Raxten fetched a reasonable price and were no easy animal to hunt.
“This thing’s got some good meat on it. We won’t have to worry about hunting for at least a cycle,” Lunar murmured, pulling out her skinning knife to cut away the beautiful, thick pelt. “Good fat too! I’m excited!”
Amelia, however, did not share her excitement. Skepticism flooded her gaze, and she remained silent until Lunar cut the last of the pelt away. The blonde frowned up at the brunette, who stayed quiet for a few more moments before reluctantly voicing her misgivings.
“How are we getting it back?”
Lunar stared dumbly at her friend, her expression blank as the question sank in. They were over an hour’s walk from their home, and that was without the heavy carcass. She balefully stared at the raxten, now understanding the curse of its larger size as she cut the last of the pelt away.
“I don’t know how to butcher meat. Which means I guess we’ll have to drag it..?” she guessed, and Amelia groaned as she circled the corpse.
“We’ll have to use its pelt as a makeshift sled. It’ll devalue it, but we don’t have much choice,” she muttered, and Lunar sighed as she gingerly folded up the animal’s limbs. Tucking them into its skinned chest, recoiling ever so slightly at the feeling before helping Amelia bundle up the meat in the pelt. She fixed her friend with an apologetic gaze, though the brunette just returned with a soft smile as she grabbed her end of the fur. “Let’s try to hunt closer to the cabin next time.”
Lunar nodded assent, putting the finishing touches on their needlessly expensive carrier bag before the two began hauling the animal back to the cabin.
To their surprise, the plan was a resounding success. The deceased animal, neatly tucked into the thick coat of fur, slid easily across the ground, the resistance faint as they pulled. Alone, it could have been torturous, but the women had been hardened by the forest. Practise with the bow, endless combat trials against one another, and the general routine of lugging back other fresh kills had strengthened them. Together, they could make a near-impossible task closer to light work. And it only grew easier as the earth gave way to mounds of leaves, littering the ground as the season of Leavon, bringing with it the death of many trees and the grand harvest of the Kingdom, paved their merry path. The sixteenth of eighteen cycles forming the Gratsinmornian year, still warm enough for animals to search but growing too cold for pests to survive. Lunar breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude at the latter thought, cursing an itch that made itself known on her arm.
But as she walked with Amelia, her eyes were drawn to the trees of her childhood. The heart of Gavleni District may have been far from the capitol in Ulcerif, but it was an area she frequented. It was why she had chosen this place as her home, for the trees had always entranced her. And even now, half a decade later, she still fell under the spell provided by their majesty. She still remembered the day she had chosen her new home; the day she had abandoned the royal court and fled the castle with Amelia. One of her few guards, Michael, had joined them as well, having already voiced his disdain for the pompous air of the monarchy. They had fled as the dawn died to give way to the twin moons and entered the serenity of the forest. And here, they had lived new lives and accustomed themselves to the ways of the Gratsinmornian wild.
Even their cabin was reminiscent of their new appreciation for the nation’s nature. Moss packed between the logs, carefully cut and stacked atop one another to form the place they called home. The place they had called home for years, lovingly renovated and decorated with countless wildflowers plucked over their time residing in it, that awaited them at the end of this long trail.
Abruptly, Lunar noticed the carcass grow heavier. She glanced back and noted the scarcity of leaves that had made their journey so successful. The pelt was digging into the earth now, forming a long, deep groove in the forest floor, impeding their journey as the girls heaved a breath in unison and laid down their baggage. Pondering the new predicament in silence, as exhaustion finally crept upon them. But they had no choice. Resting for too long would render the rest of the journey torture, and they had to get home before nightfall. Even now, Lunar could see the brilliant orange of the setting sun splattered across the navy canvas of the coming night. Their time was running out.
As one, the young women seized their package and began to haul, doing their best to keep the carcass off the earth as they trudged along the trail. While the raxten was not the heaviest beast in Gratsinmorn, it sure wasn’t the lightest either. But there was no other choice, and Lunar knew she just had to tough it out. As a result, Lunar could not have cared less when the bushes lit ablaze with activity, crashing and thundering as several screeches and thuds sounded out. Nor could Amelia, judging by her muted demand for the fighting animals to just shut up. Nature was perhaps the only force more susceptible to civil war than the Gratsinmornian people, and the rustling and crashing were little more than an irritation.
But after a while, Luner felt the toll of the animal’s weight begin to wear off. There was less of it, and she couldn’t help but smile as she found the journey just that little bit easier as she drew toward the cabin. She and Amelia continued to march, set on their journey to reach home.
And eventually, they did.
Lunar’s face broke into a wide smile as the rich scent of smoke filled the air, reaching her nose just as the cabin came into view. The towering logs peeking through the thick rayken trees and the grand sprawl of untrimmed bushes. A small clearing around the sizeable shelter offered a direct line of sight at her former guard, now close friend, whose short brown hair framed a worried expression. His brilliant blue eyes worried as the two young women finally came into view, hauling their baggage ever closer.
“Looks like Michael was worried about us,” Amelia noted, and Lunar’s smile wavered as she concurred. The warmth of his care filled her breast, battling against the cold sensation of guilt that swept through her body.
“He’s always been the caring type… Did you not tell him where you were going?”
“Didn’t you?”
Lunar paused, realising she most certainly hadn’t.
“Crays,” she cursed.
The man had, admittedly, built the majority of their cabin himself. Amelia and Lunar had, of course, helped trim and shape the logs, and cut down what trees they could when they could, but the former soldier’s strength and tenacity were instrumental to the process. Without him, their cabin would have taken well over two cycles, rather than two weeks. So seeing him so worried on the porch he had constructed, without knowing where the two women went, bit at Lunar’s heart. She offered him a wan smile and felt relieved as he returned with a grin as he rushed for their cargo.
“Thavin’s talons, Lunar! You scared me!” he exclaimed, hurriedly snatching the luggage and hauling it onto his back with a muted grunt. “You too, Amelia!”
“Come on! You know we can take care of ourselves!” Amelia protested, hesitantly allowing the former knight to take the rest of the carcass and haul it to the cabin. He paused, readjusting the animal, before trekking toward the cabin, granting the girls a reprieve. It was nearly effortless for the knight, and Lunar breathed a sigh of relief as the weight was finally off her shoulders.
“I know you can! But tell me, darn it,” he complained, before chuckling as he glanced into the pouch. “A raxten! How’d you manage to get it? They’re usually squirrelly.”
“An arrow and a rock!” Lunar declared proudly, gesturing to her bow, which she unslung from her shoulder. “Didn’t stand a chance!”
“I’ll say. Either you kill them, or you don’t,” he seemed to agree, before hauling it back inside. But, faced with the task of having to delicately lay it across the counter, he paused.
“Sorry, how am I supposed to put this on the table? It’ll fall apart like dominoes if I drop it.”
“Use that skin-changing magic! Fabinakansis or whatever the heck you call it!” Amelia said dismissively, and Michael rolled his eyes and chuckled.
Michael knew he was an average man. A little over six foot in height, as well muscled as one could expect of a palace guard and of average intelligence. His brown hair and blue eyes were not a unique trait, and there was little remarkable about him. But it was his falikansis, the magic Amelia had so failed to pronounce, that set him apart from the rest. That had earned him the title of Lunar’s personal guard. A slip of raksteel, a flat sheet of the Royal Guards’ favoured material, nestled in his shoe reminded him of his ability, and he closed his eyes before willing his body to shift.
His fair skin, largely unblemished and barely marked by his few battles, turned silver. A reflective sheen glittered off the surface, a renewed strength coursing through his veins as his flesh was replaced with the hardened royal steel. The raksteel surface was more than a coating, as his limbs squealed beneath the effort of his movements. But the noise came with a great benefit, as he delicately and near-effortlessly hauled the carcass onto the table. A large knife found its way into his hand, and he began to swiftly butcher the meat as Lunar hurried to his side to help prepare the meat for smoking and storage. Another raksteel tool, the butcher’s knife, effortlessly cleft through flesh and even bone. Even now, Michael marvelled at the strength and sharpness of the royal steel, the expensive metal a perfect choice for the difficult task ahead.
One of the few perks to having once been a palace guard, he mused.
The rhythmic, consistent sounds of chopping soon filled the home, and the repetitive thuds began to ease Lunar’s mind. Once laden with thoughts of the hunt, and her worries from before her journey, her mind was at rest. Amelia was skinning and taking care of the kallan, Michael was butchering the carcass, and she had a chance to rest. She lifted her head in fleeting curiosity, searching for something to do, and was promptly waved off by the pair as they continued with their duties.
“Rest your regal backside, Your Royal Highness,” Amelia joked, an ugly crunch as she beheaded one of the kallan. “We’ve got this covered.”
“I appreciate that,” Lunar replied dryly, slightly cringing at the title but still cracking a smile to mirror Amelia’s. The gray-eyed brunette always managed to get what she wanted, whether that was an item or a reaction, but she couldn’t help but play into the young woman’s tactics. Her cheeky friend was crafty, and she was none the wiser.
So Lunar allowed herself some sleep, rather than dwelling on the moment of confusion. Her exhaustion was creeping up, and dinner wouldn’t be ready for a little while. It would be some time before Michael finished butchering the meat, and even longer for anyone to need her help to cook. She had played her part and was now the backup for whoever needed her. She gazed upon the ceiling, watching as each individual speckle of dust shone in the dull light of the cabin’s lanterns before closing her eyes and falling asleep to the rhythmic chops.